Addiction
by Orlaine24
Summary: It has been two months and Sherlock is struggling with no one to help... The final chapter in this story!
1. Chapter 1

**Addiction- Chapter 1**

**A/N: This one has been nagging me for ages. Thought I might as well write it. It's for LozyCatt and AmyMcElchar on twitter for reasons they know.**

It had been two months since he had jumped. Two months since he had left the people he cared about most, behind. He had never thought he would feel the way he did now. It had been the only way out of a difficult situation.

Sherlock sat in an armchair silently watching the fire burn down. He was staying at a country pub where no one would pay the slightest bit of attention to him. Boredom swept over him and it was becoming more difficult to repress the feeling of need which was building up inside. Before the Fall John was the one who had helped him to cope or Mrs Hudson. Now there was nobody and the nagging in his mind grew stronger each day.

He had left that part of his life behind him and he did not wish to revisit it but he felt like he was being slowly cornered and this was the only chance of escape. He pulled out his phone and began to type.

Old place. Same time. SH

He pressed send. He had no idea why he was doing this except for the fact that he believed it would ease the pain. Pain? Emotions were taking over…his façade was crumbling. The great Sherlock Holmes had been reduced to the realms of ordinary. Moriarty had said it on the roof and now he understood. He was just like everyone else. Floating through life with nothing to do except watch T.V. and complain.

"Excuse me Sir but could you help me?" Sherlock jumped hoping that the speaker did not realise who he was.

"Sorry what?" Sherlock replied rather abruptly. He turned to find an old lady standing looking rather apologetic. He regretted his tone and apologised immediately. The old woman had simply needed someone to help her to her room with her bags. Sherlock obliged and was glad of the distraction while he waited for a reply to his text.

He didn't have to wait long as he felt his mobile vibrate after returning to his chair.

Bring cash.

This was it. He felt a nervous excitement build in his stomach which had been absent for such a long time now. He stepped out into the country air and found a taxi close by. His old haunt was not too far away from the village he had chosen. Maybe that was part of the reason he had come. Lestrade had found him here some years ago, a very different man to the one who was solving crimes only two months ago.

He gave the cabby the address and watched the houses disappear to reveal a not so pleasant harbour area beyond. It was like a mini London in a way. Drunks and addicts slouched in grimy bars while passers-by raced past in case trouble found them.

Sherlock paid the driver and told him there was no need to wait. He wouldn't be leaving here any time soon, of that he was certain. He strode over to the dealer he had texted. He was still the same, hi hair a little greyer and his teeth more rotten than before.

"Well well well Sherlock…this is a turn up…" the man began.

"Just give it to me Jack!" Sherlock interrupted. Jack consented as he remembered how Sherlock could punch when he was angry. Sherlock pulled the packet from his hand and headed to a more abandoned area. If he was going to do this right he didn't want an audience. He didn't want the world to know what he had become without John, Mrs Hudson, or even Lestrade.

**A/N: Please leave a review and let me know what you think. Should I continue?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Addiction- Chapter 2**

**A/N: Due to the great response I received I will continue…I hope you continue to read and enjoy!**

Sherlock walked towards a rather grim looking warehouse which he had frequented many times before. Time had only added to the cheerlessness of the place. There was a side entrance which had been boarded up several times and Sherlock was able to prise away the wooden boards as he had done on countless occasions.

Inside was dark and depressing, mirroring his mood as he gripped the packet tighter. He placed himself in the farthest corner and bowed his head. He was sure that this was his only option. He needed to clear his head, to have some peace from the emotions that had been increasing in intensity since his visit to the graveyard, where he had watched his one true friend say goodbye.

In the packet there was a glass vial full of the liquid he had pumped through his body as a teen as well as a syringe and band to help him find a suitable vein. He pulled each out and placed them on the ground. He lifted the vial and the syringe and filled up halfway. Relapse was going to be bad but he didn't care one bit. He wanted to forget everything that had happened on the roof and this was the way to do it. In a few minutes he had located a suitable vein; after all he was an expert in drug use.

Finally, after what seemed like an age to Sherlock, he placed the syringe to his forearm. The metal was cool against his skin and he revelled in the moment before the drug would overwhelm him. This had always been the best part. The calm before the storm as it were. He pushed and the needle entered his body. Moments later he began to feel the effects. There was a feeling of euphoria and freedom, and his mood improved. Suddenly he didn't care about the effects of his fall or the people he had hurt. All he wanted was to live in this moment with the drug giving him strength and clarity for the first time in months. Out of nowhere he began laughing at his situation. What would they say now if they saw him? Their faces would be shocked no doubt and John would be fussing while Mycroft looked sorrowful in a corner being no use whatsoever.

Mycroft…his idiot brother who had brought Sherlock here with his antics; he actually believed he could break Jim Moriarty. The spider was gone but his web remained intact and would take a long time to break. Mycroft would just have to deal with that because it was his fault in the first place.

Sherlock slowly rose and began walking to the door. Once in the fresh air his mind became even sharper. He stumbled over to Jack and his friends who were sitting where he had left them. Jack's face lit up as he saw Sherlock come towards him. A returning customer was always good for business.

"Jack…thank you so much for giving me back my mind and my life" Sherlock announced with a smile on his face.

"Yeah no bother mate. Come any time. I'll be here" Jack replied bemused at the change of character. Sherlock then began to make rapid deductions to impress the people standing around. It was fun for them for a while but slowly Sherlock became more personal and their attitude became less than friendly.

"Oi mate I think you should shut that mouth of yours before it gets you into trouble" said one of Jack's friends. Sherlock paid no attention and continued, still high from the second dose of cocaine he had taken.

"All I'm saying is that if you hadn't wanted your girlfriend to find out then you should have changed your deodorant."

This was the last straw for the young man who Sherlock had been deducing and he squared up to the former detective.

"Say that again…" he threatened and Sherlock, obliviously consented.

"I said that you should have changed your deodorant"

The next thing Sherlock knew he was flat on his back with three or four bulky men punching and kicking him. The high which he had been on disappeared in an instant and the pain set in. Sherlock tried to get back on his feet but the men kept pushing him back down. He was in trouble and the pain was coming from all areas of his weakened body. There was a realisation for a split second that John used to be there to help but it passed as a foot connected with his head. The beating continued for another ten minutes at which point Sherlock was groaning in agony constantly. Jack interrupted as he feared someone would blab to the police if they heard Sherlock.

Sherlock felt himself being lifted by his arms and legs. He was being taken somewhere where nobody would find him and he was terrified. In a rush of panic he began calling for help.

"Please someone help me…anyone please…" The men didn't take kindly to this and placed a gag in his mouth to keep him quiet. A few minutes later Sherlock was tossed in the corner of a darkened alley and the attackers fled.

Sherlock felt a tear trickle down his face and a single word escaped his mouth in a defeated cry of pain and fear.

"John…"


	3. Chapter 3

**Addiction- Chapter 3**

**A/N: Thank you all for the reviews, alerts and favourites! Didn't realise it would be so popular. This chapter is especially for BMRH who threatened no sleep until I updated. Sorry for the delay…**

It was the rain that brought Sherlock back to consciousness after a few painful hours of interrupted sleep. He had watched the blood pour out of his wounds unable to do anything about it. Slowly, he had felt himself nod off which he welcomed as some form of relief. His dreams were, however, filled with images of his former flatmate and best friend.

Sherlock hoisted himself up on a small wall, trembling both with the cold and the weakness flooding his body. He could not go to hospital…people might recognise him. He would just have to grin and bear it and put on a brave face.

With the light of day he was able to survey the area slightly better. Everything remained the same as when he had been a teenager and things, as always, seemed slightly less threatening with the sound of work and the lack of thugs. He dragged himself to a wooden bench along the water and assessed his injuries with a slightly clearer mind.

Two broken ribs, several cuts and bruises and a pounding headache; he had gotten off lightly in the end. After all the dealers could have just as easily killed him and dumped his body. His thoughts once again turned to John. How often had John made sure that Sherlock was clean, that he was kept occupied? This did not help Sherlock one little bit. He mind began to drown in these memories and self- pity took over. He wanted to block them out the happy times, the laughter, and the friendship. John was no longer a part of his life, he couldn't be and he had to leave all those memories behind.

As the day dragged on Sherlock's injuries hurt a bit less but his mind was tired and weak. It needed stimulation and his thoughts turned to the cocaine. Yes he had been beaten but he would be more careful this time…he would stay hidden; he would use a different dealer. It would be fine…of course it would…he was a genius after all…just one more hit…

Night once again closed in and Sherlock had made up his mind. This would be the last hit. He just needed to straighten things out in his mind and he would get on with his new life, he would be able to adjust. Eventually, the dealers and their clients began to emerge on the streets as the last rays of daylight faded from the sky.

_Perfect,_ Sherlock thought, _this is going to be easy…just find someone who looks halfway decent and then scarper to your safe place._

Sherlock in the hours before nightfall had scouted the area and found a place where he would stay while he thought about his next move…whatever that would be.

He slouched in the shadows, hunting, like an animal watching his prey. The night wore on and Sherlock became slightly impatient. Soon, however, he found his target. The dealer was selling to a local business man…of course Sherlock knew the man's identity within seconds but tonight he was just another addict. Sherlock kept his face hidden under a cap which he had picked up and made a swift transaction. He strode as fast as he dared out of the alley and headed for his hiding place. He entered cautiously and sat down.

Once again he performed the same ritual with the implements, laying them out in a row. He was about to place the needle in his arm when a voice entered his head. It was his imagination but it raised a moment of doubt in his fragile mind.

The voice was John and it sounded like he was pleading. He was standing in front of Sherlock as plain as day.

"_Sherlock…no please don't do this…I'm begging you…please. We can get through this…you and me…together. Just put the needle down, I can't see you like this." _

Sherlock felt the tears slide down his cheeks and they refused to stop. He would never be able to forget John and leave him behind. He had followed him even to this hideaway.

"John I won't do it...I promise I won't" Sherlock cried, reaching out to his best friend. John held out a hand to the Consulting Detective and there was a smile on his face. Suddenly, however, John was gone and Sherlock was stunned. He looked frantically around for any sign of his blogger but to no avail. It was then that he noticed the needle sticking in his arm and everything turned dark and cold.

**A/N: Thanks for sticking with me. Poor Sherlock…Once again leave a review they make my day…you have no idea…**


	4. Chapter 4

**Addiction 4**

**A/N: Thanks for the continued support **

Sherlock groaned as the light flooded in the grimy window. Memories of the previous night washed over him like and unwelcomed lightning storm. His mind had succumbed to the cocaine at an alarmingly fast rate, leading to hallucinations. The image of his former flatmate and friend begging him to stop was going to haunt Sherlock for a long time to come.

He wanted this to stop; he didn't want to become the addict of his youth. He had too many people that cared about him now, and he cared about too many people to let himself be consumed by the high. He felt a wave of emotion flood through his body and in seconds the tears began to fall down his cheeks. How often had he repeated these words and fallen off the wagon not days later. He had to avoid the downward spiral on which he had found himself on countless occasions. This time, however, there was no support, no Lestrade or Mycroft there to stop him escaping. The only thing he had was the image of John and the look of utter disappointment from last night. He would not and could not let that happen. EVER!

He had faked his death to keep his friends safe but most of all John who Moriarty's men knew Sherlock was closest to. He wasn't going to ruin it now by wasting his life away in alleys and decrepit buildings. Sherlock was going to bring down the web piece by piece until the reign of Moriarty was ended completely.

Finding the strength Sherlock pulled himself up and stumbled out of hiding and into the sunlight. His head began to pound as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. He made his way towards a local café, where he was sure he wouldn't be recognised. He sat down and ordered. In the back of his mind John was sitting opposite looking pleased. This made Sherlock happier while he waited.

Sherlock hadn't realised how hungry he was, as usually he wouldn't eat for days but then realised that he hadn't actually eaten in five days. In a matter of minutes the fry was gone and Sherlock moved to leave. Before he exited, however, a young woman shouted towards him.

"Hey aren't you that detective bloke from London… The one that is supposed to be dead!" Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks afraid to turn around. If he was recognised and if someone found out his mission would be dead in the water before he even started. After a momentary pause Sherlock turned slowly to face the voice fearing the worst. He was surprised to find a middle aged woman standing there scrutinizing his face for an answer.

"Sorry I think you must be mistaken I'm no detective just a tourist" Sherlock replied in a ridiculous voice that even surprised him. The woman apparently accepted this story as she muttered an apology of sorts before leaving the café.

That was too close Sherlock thought. He needed to get a move on before the allure of more cocaine threatened to overcome him again or someone recognised him for certain.

Sherlock knew that there was one man who could help him in his current state but he wasn't sure whether to go to him for help. His mind was racing once again and he felt sick. The cocaine was still in his system and the side effects were worse than Sherlock remembered. Suddenly he felt dizzy and collapsed to the ground. This was as John had so eloquently once put it _a bit not good._ It was in that moment Sherlock made his decision. He dragged himself down a half empty street fighting the urge to shoot up again and avoid the side effects. There was a taxi rank at the end of the street and he made his way towards it. After what seemed to Sherlock to be an age he reached the corner. He was about to flag down the nearest driver when he noticed a figure emerge from a nearby shop. It was Jack. A grin spread across his face as he saw Sherlock struggling against the wall. Jack strode towards him looking far too pleased for Sherlock's liking. He knew he wouldn't be able to prevent himself if Jack tried to sell him some more cocaine. The side effects appeared to be worsening and Sherlock just wanted it to go away.

"Well here we are again Sherlock…I hope you haven't missed me too much…."

**A/N: Well a cliff-hanger for you all…mainly because it is half two in the morning…hope you enjoyed this instalment. As always reviews are welcomed and appreciated.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Addiction 5**

**A/N: I have been busy and I apologise greatly for the long wait….**

Sherlock realised that he was in trouble. At some point Jack had managed to push Sherlock back from the taxi and into an alley. He had nowhere to run and no real means of escape. Sure he could try and fight his way out but after two full nights and days without food his was severely weakened. His brain was screaming at him to run and to fight but his body point blankly refused to act.

He forced his mind to slow down and he tried to regain the composure he needed to think logically. It was proving difficult, however, as Jack was all the time forcing him backwards away from the safety of the street. A vial was placed in his hand and Sherlock's mind became distracted once again by the thought of escape. The pain of being useless would be left behind and the vial was the key. Jack knew this and Sherlock knew this.

There was a sudden crash from the street and Jack glanced back. It was just enough time for Sherlock to realise that his mind was playing games with him. He didn't need the drugs he had something more important to grasp onto in his bad days. Friends like John and Lestrade, Molly and Mrs Hudson didn't come along too often and especially not for a high functioning sociopath like himself. From somewhere inside Sherlock found the strength he needed and push Jack out of the way.

Jack just stood dumbfounded at this turnaround of events. He had been in complete control of the situation and had no idea how things had changed so quickly. When he had known Sherlock before he was a friendless genius turned junkie with no self -control or willpower; clearly something had changed since he had moved to London and become a famous detective. He needed Sherlock weak, needed him to once again be his best customer returning after a bad day.

Sherlock could see the surprise on Jack's face but it didn't take long for it to turn to disgust and anger. Sherlock began to run but knew that Jack would not be far behind. He also knew that Jack was used to these streets and Sherlock had not been on them for years.

"Come back here Sherlock or I might just have to get my mates back to sort you out" Jack shouted from close behind. This suited Sherlock quite well; the more Jack shouted the more energy he would waste leaving Sherlock with less work to do.

"No reply ha! What's wrong Sherly…too good for me now are we?" Jack was trying to bait Sherlock but it wasn't going to work. Sherlock had entered his mind palace trying to remember the roads he was running in order to escape from this nightmare.

Suddenly the town was laid out in his mind and he followed his chosen route.

Jack was almost sprinting to keep up with the detective now. It appeared as if someone had handed Sherlock a map and given him directions on how to get away from him. He was taken through narrow alleyways and through main streets until at last he couldn't hack it any more. Sherlock would return eventually, he had nowhere else to go. Jack had read the papers and he knew Sherlock had faked his death. That much was certain and he knew that when Sherlock as alone he was vulnerable. He would catch him the next time he came crawling back and he would charge double the price.

Sherlock sensed that Jack had given up and he was genuinely relieved. He didn't believe he could have kept up that pace all day. He had to get to out of this place and soon before Jack's friends caught up with him. He didn't think he could manage another round of fighting with them. He hailed a cab and although the driver was dubious at first his accepted the fare and drove Sherlock back to the pub he had been staying at before he had made his ridiculous decision. After all the adrenaline had left his system Sherlock could feel the onset of the withdrawal symptoms. This was going to be hell but he knew he had to do it. By the time he reached the pub he was not in a good way. The driver was glad to be rid of him and the landlady of the pub was less than happy.

As he walked to his room Sherlock felt faint and he was beginning to shiver. This was a mix of withdrawal and lack of food. If John had been here he would be forcing Sherlock to eat._ John_ Sherlock thought as he stumbled to his room._ I'm so sorry I let you down….I let everyone down._ With this thought Sherlock collapsed on the ground taken by the darkness.

**A/N: This one was for BookWormSH after a successful retrieval of Benedict…. Please review they really do brighten up my day as do alerts and favourites _**


	6. Chapter 6

**Addiction 6**

**A/N: Once again I apologise for the ridiculous wait but life gets in the way as does teacher training… Hope you enjoy this one **

When Sherlock woke he knew he was in trouble. All around him were the noises of a hospital and that meant bad news. He knew for a fact that the closest hospital that would have the capacity he could hear at this present moment was in London. He glanced left and right and as far as he could tell he had a least gotten a private ward to recover in. Sherlock relaxed; maybe no one would recognise him and he could discharge himself quickly.

He must have been out for quite a while because the withdrawal symptoms appeared to have disappeared for the most part and he was honestly grateful for it. Outside his room he could hear a male and female voice having some sort of argument. The man appeared to by trying to gain entry to Sherlock's room while the woman, evidently a nurse was refusing his admittance. Sherlock strained his ears hoping to hear his brother's voice (he would be annoyed of course after faking his death but he could help Sherlock). To his disappointment and worry the voice that Sherlock could make out was that of Gregory Lestrade. Lestrade couldn't find him here not after what had happened. Obviously the landlady had called in the police to ascertain what was happening.

"I don't care what you think is in the patient's best interest. I am an officer of the law and this man is wanted on suspicion of being in possession of a Class A drug" came the voice of Lestrade. Sherlock knew he was running out of time. He had to escape and fast because once Lestrade worked the police angle it wouldn't be long before the nurse had to consent.

Sherlock leapt from the bed quickly running through the options in his head.

Bathroom. Obvious

Cupboard. Too small

Wardrobe. Too narrow

That left the window. Sherlock raced over and opened it. He looked out and found there was a small ledge that he could balance on if he was very careful. He needed to be fast as he could hear the voices getting closer to the door.

Lestrade opened the door and barged into the room. To his astonishment he found it empty apart from the bed and the wardrobe. He searched all available hiding spaces and in the bathroom but the junky must have escaped. He called to the nurse who entered the room.

"Where the hell is this guy? I thought you said he was unconscious and unable to move" Lestrade said in rather a forceful voice.

"I…err…I don't know…he can't be far away he was out of it half an hour ago…I checked myself" replied the nurse rather upset at Lestrade's accusing tone.

"Keep an eye out for him…I'll be back later to check up on your progress. Remember this man may be dangerous." With that Lestrade left and the nurse look around the room slightly confused. The man had not left; she had been watching the door so where could he be? She closed the door and hurried back to the nurse's station to raise the alarm.

Sherlock climbed back in the window, knowing that he had to find a way out before all his hard work would be for nothing. If Lestrade found him, he would tell John and John would not be happy at all after everything Sherlock had put him through. He called a cab and managed to escape the confines of his room. His mind ached as the cab pulled away and suddenly the nagging sensation returned. This was not good…not good at all. The cravings ere somehow stronger and his mind was filled with John and Molly and Mrs Hudson…he tried to get rid of them but their faces adorned with grief grew stronger and more vivid each minute. They didn't matter at least he tried to tell himself that.

_Caring is not an advantage._ His brother's words penetrated him like a knife. He needed to escape one last time. Moran would be sorry then. His mind would be free from worry and he would find him. Just one more hit and everything would be all right.

The cabbie pulled up to the address Sherlock had given him and he got out, stumbling with the need that absorbed him. He made his way to the door and rung the bell. A man answered and delight spread across his face.

"Plea...please I need it…I need to forget…just for a while…" Sherlock begged and the man led him inside, handing him a syringe…

**A/N: Well there you have it another cliff-hanger…Here's to BookWormSH once again for such dedicated loyalty. Reviews, follows and favourites are greatly appreciated as alays**


	7. Chapter 7

**Addiction 7**

**A/N: This is for a certain someone because I promised her a surprise Also thank you for the continued support… Here we go again…**

_Sherlock was running towards a figure in the gloom. He had followed him to this desolate area. He was a suspect, and he had to be caught. He was gaining on him all the time until at last he pushed the man to the ground in front of him. He dragged the man against the wall and turned him around. His heart stopped when the face of his best friend stared back at him…_

Sherlock woke with a start. He was in a dingy room with a needle lying on the floor beside him. He was disgusted with himself for succumbing once again to the poison of his youth. He got to his feet in a very undignified manner searching for someone to complain to. He made his way shakily down a flight of stairs before collapsing to his knees. A shadow crossed over him and a pair of arms dragged him to the sofa.

"Well Sherlock that's a tenner you owe me…Remember our little bet that I'd never see you again…" said the voice of a man Sherlock knew well; another one of his dealers from the past.

"I…I need to get out of here…I need help…" Sherlock pleaded almost in tears with the full extent of his situation finally hitting him.

"That's not all you need mate" replied the dealer before reaching for a mobile of the table. Sherlock recognised it as his own.

"Who should I call?" asked the dealer scrolling through the numbers.

"Here let me" and Sherlock, as he so often did texted the one person he could trust above all when it came to his habit. As he waited for a response Sherlock let his brain switch off and retreated back in to his mind palace where he didn't have to deal with mess he had created.

"Sir, are you ever going to answer that and get on with the task in hand?" came a voice from somewhere far away. He could scarcely believe what was going on. The number was Sherlock's but he was dead. The message sounded like him too; brief and to the point.

Need you. Please come. 116 Brickford Lane.

"I need to go…I'll be back in an hour. Something has just come up" and he left without another word as several faces just stared in confusion. He had been the reason they were here in the first place. He hailed a cab, daring to hope that this was Sherlock and not another hoax, of which there had been a few of the last while.

Sherlock had somehow managed to doze off while was waiting and yet again his dreams were filled with images of his friends becoming the enemy. Was this what lay in store for him? A world with no John, no Lestrade or Molly, or even Mrs Hudson? The truth was he missed them. They had made him better even if he failed to thank or acknowledge that help even once. He was now resolved and vowed to himself that he would never ever let himself get to this point again. He would accept the help offered and do as he was told (well for the most part, unless the person was dull or boring).

He had to wait another ten minutes before a cab pulled up outside and the inhabitant got out. He looked unsure of himself Sherlock noted, as took the final few steps. Then again, he had just received a text from a dead man which is never exactly easy to accept. After a minute of indecision the man rang the doorbell and waited for an answer.

"What do you want?" asked the dealer answering the door rather abruptly.

"I got a text from…Sh..Sher…Sherlock Holmes asking me to come and…but it can't be him…no because he's dead…he jumped…" replied the man in a weak voice.

"Yeah he's here …be gentle he's had a rough night…" he said in a rather mocking tone.

The man rounded the corner and saw the detective lying on the couch looking weak and suffering the early signs of withdrawal. He was alive and real but he had a lot to answer for. That could wait; the first thing was to clear his system and get him back to his usual sociopathic state. He never once thought that he would hear himself wanting to have the 'normal' Sherlock Holmes back but that was before he died and came back to life…

**A/N: And there I shall leave…any ideas who our mystery man might be? A few more chapters to go I think. Thank you for the continued support. It makes writing this easier and a lot more enjoyable knowing people still read it!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Addiction 8**

**A/N: Just a short note to say I hope you all enjoy this one and also I have no medical training so anything I mention I have just made up! Thanks for the continued support **

Sherlock regained consciousness as he was being half carried half dragged from the cab which had brought the pair to their destination for the foreseeable future. Sherlock knew deep in his heart that he had made the right decision. He could not and would not let cocaine destroy his life again.

"Don't let…John…find…out" he managed before collapsing on the couch once again lost on the realms of nothingness. The man standing above him just shook his head and responded with a whispered

"Don't worry he won't" before exiting the room to get the necessary equipment. Ten minutes later he returned carrying a basin of cold water, towels, a bin and several other items which might prove useful with a sociopathic consulting detective. Silently he waited for his friend knowing that tonight was going to be tough but no tougher than the last time or the one before that. In fact he had lost count of the number of nights Sherlock had spent on this couch trying to get clean only return to old habits. John had made him better but now he was not there and Sherlock had gone back to his old ways. This was solid proof that alone did not protect the great Sherlock Holmes.

It was three in the morning when Sherlock woke screaming from a nightmare and the lack of a needle pumping drugs through his body.

First came the denial, and then came the incessant shivering and begging. It was not a pleasant sight to see such a man brought low by his addiction but he refused to leave. He held his hand through the agony and the pleading, hoping that it would be over soon if not for his sake then Sherlock's. He couldn't bear to see his friend laid low at a time where he should have been free to walk the streets without fear. Moriarty had died on the rooftop and yet Sherlock had still jumped protesting that he was a fraud. Sherlock could never have been a fraud and he had been so wrong to think for a second the whispers were true.

Morning came like a blessing. The worst of the symptoms seemed to have passed for now, and now there was the watching game. He could not let Sherlock out of his sights for fear of falling off the wagon yet again. This was a critical 24 hours and he would wait and watch. His phone began to vibrate but he simply turned it off. His attention would be on Sherlock and getting him better. The others could wait; a week if that's how long it would take.

"I…I…need to…leave…have…to…keep…safe…" the words came from the detective but they were weak and almost unbearable to hear.

"Sherlock everything is alright…You are safe here and you can stay as long as you need to." There were tears in his eyes as he saw the humanity of his friend weakened but still determined to protect those around him.

"You don't understand…you…just…don't I have to leave…its important…Moran…" This last word struck a chord…Moran he had heard that name before and he was sure it was trouble. But what could Moran have to do with Sherlock. He wasn't sure but he would be on the case once Sherlock had recovered.

Sherlock was once again asleep and he took the opportunity to read his messages. There were five missed calls from work. Typical. There were also two messages from John asking for a case. This was heart wrenching. John had started taking cases to keep himself occupied after Sherlock's death but little did he know that his one true friend was alive and asleep on his couch.

He made a call to work sending his apologies and informed him that a family emergency had arisen and that he would be taking some time off. When he had hung up he realised just how much like family Sherlock was. He had known the man for over half his life and if he thought carefully he would consider Sherlock almost like a younger brother of whom he was very protective.

The next day passed as the first had but not once did he leave Sherlock's side. The detective slept and mumbled more about protecting John and himself and Mrs Hudson but yet he would not let him leave alone. If they were to be in trouble so be it. His friendship with this great man, for that was he was, was worth any pain or suffering that any enemy could put him through.

It was on the second night that he heard the words that he swore he would ever hear from the man who lay before him.

"Thank you Lestrade…"

**A/N: Thank You once again! Please keep reading and reviewing It really does brighten up my day! Until next time...**


	9. Chapter 9

**Addiction 9**

**A/N: The final chapter is upon us. I would like to thank you all for the support you have shown for this story. It's the kind of thing that keeps me writing. Please enjoy the final instalment!**

Sherlock was the smartest man in London, Lestrade was sure of this so why did he have to go and ruin it by taking drugs… it had been a week now since he had collected Sherlock from the crack-house and slowly but surely the detective was recovering. It had taken more patience than Lestrade had needed in a long time but he stayed with his friend through it all. Sherlock continued to spout abuse at him while the withdrawal symptoms continued but still he stayed.

"Moran…please…you need to let me go…" Sherlock muttered on quite a few occasions but Lestrade was adamant that the detective was to leave under no circumstances. As the days wore on and Sherlock became more lucid he was able to dictate his thoughts more easily and Lestrade began to realise the enormity of why Sherlock had jumped.

"Moran is Moriarty's number two and the most dangerous man in London. If he finds out that I'm still alive then you are all dead. I can't let that happen to you or Mrs Hudson and especially not John." Sherlock said with a forceful attitude. Lestrade was impressed. Not just by the lucidity of Sherlock's thought but by the fact that he cared about them. John Watson had made Sherlock a good man after all. There had been countless times in the past where Lestrade had found Sherlock in a drugged state without a care of who he hurt by his actions. He had truly changed and Lestrade was thankful.

"It's okay Sherlock….we'll sort something out but only when I think you are fully recovered." replied Lestrade. Sherlock nodded understanding the shock of the grey haired man in front of him. Up until a week ago Lestrade had presumed like the rest of the world that the great Sherlock Holmes had jumped from the roof of Bart's. Now here he was acting like a fool using again for the first time in years and the nightmares of that time had come back to haunt Lestrade.

Lestrade's phoned beeped with another message coming through…the fourth since that morning Sherlock noted…Lestrade glanced at it and then towards Sherlock.

"I presume it is John looking for a case to keep himself occupied" stated Sherlock his usual abrupt manner. The inspector nodded but tried to brush the matter aside. Sherlock was having none of it, however, and picked an official looking folder from the inspector's kitchen bench.

"I think this one looks right up my old friend's street. Oh and look at that it was clearly the husband. This should keep John occupied for several days at least!" announced Sherlock looking rather more like the man Lestrade knew him to be. Lestrade didn't bother asking how Sherlock had solved the case which had been cold for weeks with one look at the case file but instead took out his phone and texted John the information he needed. Lestrade glanced up and saw a flutter of a smile on Sherlock's face. Deep down it seemed he did care about John Watson.

The rest of the day passed in silence with Sherlock looking better by the hour. It appeared that he was once again through his withdrawal and would only need a few more days of recuperation. Lestrade was both glad and saddened by this as it meant for sure that he would lose the detective once more as this man Moran seemed to be more dangerous than even Moriarty had been. Sherlock had talked more of him as the drugs wore of and it became apparent that Sherlock wanted to hunt him down for what he had done.

"This is something I have to do for my own sake as much as yours, Lestrade." stated Sherlock simply and in all honesty Lestrade didn't have the heart to say no to him.

There was a sudden banging on the flat door and Lestrade ushered Sherlock into the bedroom to avoid detection. When the room was clear of anything Sherlock related Lestrade made his way to the door opening it cautiously. To his surprise it was a confused looking John Watson clearly on edge.

"Caught he killer for you… he is back at Baker Street but he saying all these things about Sherlock and I had to get out of there Greg…"John blurted out in a somewhat incoherent fashion. Sherlock listened carefully, impressed at the skill of the doctor, he had learned well.

"This man's name?" asked Lestrade.

"Sebastian Moran…he admitted everything to me but then he tried to tell me how Sherlock was alive and how he was using again and he hated me for trying to help…and that Sherlock told him that I was a useless piece of scum who was easy to manipulate and deceive." John replied sounding more desperate by the minute.

This news caused Sherlock to wince slightly as he stood hidden behind the door. He wanted John to be safe but he couldn't bear to think of John believing him to be a cruel and hardened criminal. He hesitated on revealing himself, however, for a moment longer as Lestrade appeared to have control of the situation.

"John, I have known Sherlock for a long time now and can honestly tell you that he cares…cared about you. He used in the past and was a terror but since you came into his life he had truly changed…you helped him become more human and no one can ever dispute that. Moran is a dangerous man and would do anything to cause confusion in your mind. He was linked to Moriarty and this is clearly a last ditch attempt to avenge his death."

John slumped onto the couch looking exhausted. He had been avoiding the death of his friend but he supposed it was time to move on and do him proud.

"I miss him Lestrade…he was the most unusual man I have ever met and if he was right here I would tell him that. I just want him back again...so that we could get back to the thrill of the chase instead of the mundane apprehension…it's just no fun anymore!"

On hearing this Sherlock could stand it no longer and slowly pulled open the bedroom door. John did not notice as Sherlock walked towards him and sat down on the couch beside him. John looked up expecting to see Lestrade trying to comfort him but instead found the face of his best friend looking at him with concern and regret. No words were exchanged but the two friends simply pulled the other into a hug which Lestrade believed showed more about their friendship than any amount of words ever could.

**A/N: So there we have it…the boys are finally reunited. I hope this lived up to the expectation of all my readers. If you would be so kind as to drop me a final review I would be very grateful!**


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